


The Ballad of the Broken

by SippingMyTea



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alive Ygraine, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, Demon Deals, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Nice Uther Pendragon (Merlin), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Quests, Ygraine Lives (Merlin), its more benign than anything really, ok its not really a demon but its basically the same, which isnt a big deal because magic was never banned in this alternate timeline so...
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-08-20 01:31:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20219569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SippingMyTea/pseuds/SippingMyTea
Summary: Twenty years ago, Uther summoned an ancient being and asked it that a child of his may live. The ancient being took pity on him and asked for his life in return. Uther agreed, he was ready to die so Ygraine may have a child. But the being did not take him when the child was born. Instead, Uther was granted twenty years of life before it would come to collect the debt it is owed.Tonight is that night. Uther can feel the being's presence, and, though he dreads it, he has long accepted and made peace with it. He is ready to go.But Arthur is not ready to let him go, so he bargains. And he is granted time to fulfill a quest.





	1. The Deal and the Price

Twenty happy years have passed since Prince Arthur was first born, coming into this world lifeless before he started crying and screaming, loud and demanding life be given to him. He was a gift to his parents in so many ways, but over the years Arthur began to feel like he is a burden on his father, even though Uther has never done or said anything to imply such.

Twenty years have passed happily and Arthur grew up into a fine young man, ready to be crowned prince and take on the responsibilities that come with the crown. He is eager to prove himself and he is incredibly lucky. People feel safer with him near, for it seems that something out there wants him to live, some force feeds him life and refuses to let him die, for he has survived the worst and oddest things. He has fallen off of the highest tree in the forest and lived without even breaking a bone when he was fourteen. An enemy assassin attacked him when he was fifteen, but the blade barely grazed him. He was struck by a plague when he was sixteen and was the only one to survive it amongst those who caught it.

Every time, he survived, and it could not be explained, neither by magic nor by nature. No one knew, no one but Uther, why the heir to the throne, why Prince Arthur was so lucky. None but Uther knew.

Twenty years to the day. It is Prince Arthur's birthday and he shall be crowned prince today. Uther sits on his throne, his eyes flicking to the window and the setting sun in the distance. Tonight, he would have to pay the price for his son. Tonight. He dreads the thought, dreads the notion, and he frowns and scowls and closes his eyes and sighs. Ygraine, his wife, his queen, takes his hand and mistakes his expression for keeping down the excitement. She is wrong. He is dreading this night but damned if he let his son see him like this and think less of himself.

Today is one of those days where he wonders if he has made a mistake, and then he thinks of or sees his son, and then all doubt is washed away. His wife's eyes glint with happiness, and he manages a smile himself. Despite what is to come, he cherishes the time he had.

———

A hooded figure is sighted by the gate of Camelot, smiling kindly at the guards he passes. They do not know him, but his smile fills them with dread, for it is filled with fangs, glinting, but red as rust. They freeze at the sight of it, and stumble out of his way, gripping their weapons tight. He does not attack. He moves past them, his cloak making no sound as it drags over the ground. He makes no sound at all as he glides through the town, headed for the castle that stands proudly before him as if daring him to come closer. So he does. He halts in the courtyard and gazes upwards. He meets no eye, for his presence is not yet known and that is well.

"Camelot," he mutters to himself and sighs, "Your king must pay his price. The time has come. I'm sorry..."

He sighs and the world sighs with him, and he approaches the largest door and glides through it, startling the guards on the other side, but they, too, shy away from him. The torches upon the walls die as he passes them, leaving the halls dark in warning for every curious soul not to follow him. And they don't.

He has his duties to attend to and no one would dare interfere.

He knows where he must go though he has only ever twice set foot in Camelot before. The man he seeks, the man who must pay the price for what he has done, he must pay, and his payment must be collected. Oh, he would rather not rob the night of its joy, but he must.

———

King Uther Pendragon sits upon his throne and watches the celebrations with a stony frown. He knows the night, he knows what is to come and he dreads to face it. His son is now crowned prince and celebrates with the knights and other nobles. He looks happy, laughing and chatting and drinking, but refusing the offer to dance. Ygraine, thankfully alive despite it all, holds his hand. She's ignorant while he is aware. He feels the presence of that being and it weighs on him.

Years ago, he wished to have an heir, to secure the kingdom and to make his wife happy. He didn't know why, but every child his wife conceived would not live past the womb. Each child would be deemed healthy, and they would dare to hope, but the moment it was born, all life would leave its body. They grieved and mourned every child they lost, and they sought for cures. They sought out people, physicians, sorcerers, high priestesses, but no one could help them, and every child birthed would die upon entering the world.

It drove them mad with grief, and Ygraine fell into a deep depression she could not escape for her grief and would not allow anyone but her husband to touch her. Uther sought out more people until, one day, he was approached by a man who told him of a ritual.

The man warned him. The ritual, if done right, would grant them their wish. But he warned, there is a price to pay. In his desperation, Uther ignored the warning and asked for the ritual. The man was reluctant to give it, but he pitied Uther and his wife and thought that perhaps it may help.

He instructed Uther to build a shrine with an offering of food and drink and to place a chair at it. The chair must be set on fire to begin the ritual, and if the fire consumes the chair or the flames die out before it is done, then their offering is denied and they must try anew a month later, but no more than three times.

When the chair is set alight, the one craving the wish must circle the shrine and chair and recite The Ballad of the Broken — which the man gave Uther as well and it is a very depressing thing — and then they must kneel by the burning chair and wait until the flames die out, whereupon a being more powerful and ancient than the world will appear and hear him out and name its price. If Uther agrees to the price, the being shall grant him his wish and collect its agreed-upon price.

Perhaps, he thinks, he should have heeded the warning. But then, he would not have his son, and the thought is unbearable, and he is glad he did it.

———

Soon, the hooded figure arrives at the large wooden doors that lead to the throne room. He can hear the celebrations within and he pauses. The music is loud and merry and the people in the hall are dancing and laughing and _happy_. The man knows what is to come, so the hooded figure decides to allow him a moment longer of happiness before he must pay. The figure takes a breath and exhales, then lifts his left hand and knocks.

_Knock._

All the music within the hall dies and the confused people cease their chatter. Everyone heard the knocking.

_Knock._

The king gasps and pales and prays to all the gods to take mercy on him. They do not. Everyone heard the knocking.

_Knock._

The torches flicker as the doors burst open and splitter against the wall into pieces. The knights rise and draw their swords. The people closest to the doors jump away in fright and stumble backward towards the walls as if pushed by some invisible force. The hooded figure stands there for a moment, watching behind the hood and everyone can feel his stare, though they do not see his eyes. The people glance around at their neighbours in fear and confusion, but no one can tell them who the hooded figure is and what he wants.

He opens his mouth, the people cower when they see his fangs, and his voice is cold and grating and feels like nails being hammered into their ears.

———

Uther placed the chair before the shrine and grabbed a torch from the wall and set the chair ablaze. As it burned soundly he circled both the chair and the shrine and recited the Ballad of the Broken, as instructed. The ballad made him feel melancholy and like a heavy weight was building onto his back, but he could not give up now. For the sake of Camelot- no. For the sake of his _wife_, he could not give up now.

He knelt on the floor by the chair, just out of reach of the flames as they burned the chair. Suddenly, the flames stopped and disappeared, and someone, or something, sat in the chair and glanced at the offering on the shrine appraisingly. The figure was hooded and Uther could not see its eyes, but it was built like a lithe man, too long limbs and skin pale as the moon. It frowned at the offering and Uther wondered, with a cold shower running down his back, if he did something wrong.

The hooded figure's head slowly turned to him and his breath hitched. He could feel its (his?) eyes staring at him, boring through his very soul, though he could not see them. It opened its mouth then, rust coloured fangs glinting in the pale light of the moon shining through the window, and it spoke.

"King Uther Pendragon of Camelot... You crave something. Tell me. What is your wish?" Its voice was horrible and harmonized with steel dragging over glass and Uther winced.

"I- My wife and I, we need an heir, a child, but all our children die the moment they are born!" He exclaimed. "We wish for a child that lives."

The hooded figure regarded him for a moment, then turned their gaze back to the offering. Uther waited for it, for him, to speak.

"Your wish is a child that lives..." it repeats as if thinking it over. "A wish such as that is a heavy one. I am sure you know every wish has its price."

"I was told you would name the price," Uther said and nodded. The figure nodded as well.

"You are aware the price for a wish like this would be a heavy one?"

"I would give anything."

The figure smiled kindly, showing off its rust coloured fangs. "I'm sure you would, though that is a dangerous offer to make. I admire that you would give so much for the happiness of your wife." Then the figure thought and considered. "I will grant your wish. The price, however, shall be your life."

Uther's eyes widened and he paled. His life. He would have to leave his wife and child alone, how could he ever do such a thing? He closed his eyes. For Ygraine... He nodded. He would die for Ygraine's happiness.

"I accept that price."

The figure smiled, all sharp teeth. "Your heart will not go unnoticed, King Uther Pendragon of Camelot. Give me your hand."

Uther didn't hesitate and gave the figure his hand. The grip was tight and Uther feared the power behind it, but it also gave him hope. The hand was burning hot, it was painful, but he did not let go until the figure did, and it left no mark on his hand. None of this was natural. None of this felt natural, but it shall be done. It shall be done.

"Do your husbandly duties tonight and for as long as it takes. When the child is to be born, I shall be its midwife. Your child shall live, I give you my word."

And then the figure was gone, leaving a burned chair as the only witness to its presence, leaving Uther alone with the consequences of his actions. He pondered it, what he had just done, all the way to the chambers he shared with his wife and the moment he laid eyes on her, he forgot all his doubts, his worries, the deal he had just struck. He promised her, that night, that all shall be well, and then he let his body speak for him.

Nine months later, Ygraine went into labour, and she began crying, not daring to hope again that this child would live. She hadn't even bothered to think of a name for the child and had merely assured that her own health would not decline over the course of the pregnancy and the eventual disappointment. She cried and screamed and not even Uther could comfort her. He promised her that it would be all right, but she screamed and cried and called out his lie, and he prayed to the gods that he wasn't lying. The gods wouldn't hear him, but his wife's cries alerted a higher, older being, that the time has come.

With the help of an unlucky knight, he carried his wife to the bed as she screamed and thrashed and cursed like no lady of the court should, and he called for the midwife and for the physician. He stayed by his wife, held her as she cried and grunted and groaned through the pain, cursing him and the day she married him, and he took it in stride and with a kind smile. When the midwife took too long he yelled what was taking so long, and then the door opened.

It was not the midwife Uther knew. It was a man who looked only barely of age, with pale skin, like the moon, and his eyes were hidden by his hair, and his limbs looked too long on him. The man rushed to Ygraine but said nothing except that he simply instructed her on her breathing and aided her through everything.

The birth was a long one and took hours, well into the night, and the entire castle was waiting with bated breath whether they ought to celebrate or mourn. Everything was quiet, except for Ygraine's pained cries and curses. Then, as the child was born, Ygraine fainted, from pain and exhaustion and fear of what she would find when she woke.

The man, the midwife, held the still baby in his arms and looked down at it with an empty look. It looked so lifeless there, and Uther was sure it was dead and he trembled, both in grief and in rage that the deal had not been kept. He was about to scream at the man, the midwife, when the very same smiled, his rusty fangs glinting, and looked up at Uther.

"Your son has been born. Without me, he would be dead. Now, he shall live," he said and handed Uther the baby, wrapped in towels. The moment the baby changed hands, its lifeless body moved and began living. It opened its eyes and began screaming and crying, just as its mother had.

Uther was in awe, gazing down at his crying son. "My son... my child!" A sob escaped from his lips and he held the child close to his heart. He looked at the man, the midwife, and his gratitude shone in his eyes. "Thank you. Thank you for granting me this."

The man, the midwife, smiled kindly, despite the rusty fangs. "Name him," he said patiently.

"I shall name him... I shall name him Arthur." Uther nodded decisively as the name rolled off his tongue.

"Arthur," the man, the midwife, this ancient being, said and spoke to the child in question. "Arthur, you shall live, as I promised to your father that you would. He shall pay a heavy price. A life for a life. His for yours. His wish was for you to live, and so you shall live, and you shall not die by anything for as long as I can call you a child. However," and the man, the midwife, smiled brighter, "It is customary for every of my kind present to bestow two gifts upon the born child. My gifts to you, Arthur, shall be this: You shall have luck, and lots of it. Luck in love, luck in happiness, luck in life. And second, you will have your father until you are no longer a child."

This surprised Uther. "Wh-what?"

"In truth," said the man, the midwife, the ancient being, "It is a gift to you and your father both. He proved his heart to me, and I take pity. I shall take him on your twentieth birthday, and no day sooner shall I collect my debt. Take care, now, Prince Arthur Pendragon of Camelot. We shall meet again and I look forward to the reunion." Then the being looks up at Uther. "In twenty years I shall collect the debt you owe me. Be happy with the time I grant you, spend it wisely, spend it with your wife and with your son. Be kind to him and teach him kindness. Teach him also the Ballad of the Broken, and he shall be a friend of mine."

And with that, the man left. Arthur continued crying in Uther's arms, and he couldn't help but smile and laugh with joy. He rushed to Ygraine and shook her until she woke. She glared at him until she heard screaming and her eyes darted down to the wriggling bundle of life Uther was carefully holding in his arms.

She gasped and her eyes cleared of the fog of her depression and widened. She began shivering and trembling, and finally broke down crying, and so did Uther, and they held Arthur together, crying of joy and relief. The news spread fast. THE PRINCE LIVED!

And Uther forgot the deal he had made.

———

Arthur's head shoots up at the hooded figure standing in the doorway, his eyes widening and dread filling his stomach. Then he halts. Something feels achingly familiar about this person, this man, whoever he was. Then the hooded figure starts to sing, and Arthur pales, because he knows this song. This song has haunted his childhood, but he has never heard it sung before, only spoken, because his father did not know the melody.

And what a haunting one it is. The people in the room begin to tremble as the figure's voice carries the melancholy of the ballad through the room with a growling voice, like that of a bear, that has them all shaking in fear. Some even begin to cry, and Arthur feels heavy when he hears it.

He used to hate this song when his father taught it to him as a child, but in his later years, he has grown somewhat fond of it, for one because it's a nostalgic memory, for two because he began to relate to it to some extent, though most would wonder why.

Questions begin flooding his mind. Who is this hooded figure? What does he want? And why does he know the song his father taught him to recite only spoken? And why is there a melody to it?

The song ends and echoes through the silent halls of the castle, and the people in the room shiver, for suddenly it is very cold. The hooded figure smiles and Arthur winces when he sees the rusty fangs. The figure begins to walk, approaching the king, but he stops in the middle of the room. Then he speaks.

"King Uther Pendragon of Camelot," he says, "The time has come. Pay the price."

All are in shock, all but Uther, who breathes in, sighs and nods. He stands up and takes a few steps forward.

"Wait!" Arthur exclaims. "Father! What's going on?"

Uther frowns and looks away, anywhere but his son who looks confused and lost. He hasn't seen Arthur like this since he was a small child, and the image makes him sad to leave him. He looks up at the hooded figure and gazes imploringly at him.

"Please," he says with such a pleading tone that it surprises Arthur and Ygraine, "Allow me a moment to explain it to them."

The hooded figure frowns sadly at him and sighs. "Perhaps I should have asked you to speak to your family before your time was up. I shall take you after you explain it to them, then."

"Explain what? Father?" Arthur asks, stepping closer and regarding the hooded figure with a wary look. He receives a smile from him for it.

"It has been a long time, Crown Prince Arthur Pendragon of Camelot, since I guided your life into this world."

"Arthur, Ygraine," Uther sighs, "I must speak to you."

Ygraine suddenly finds the strength within her to move and she rushes to her husband.

"What is the meaning of this, Uther? Who is he? What does he mean with 'pay the price'? The last time a sorcerer came crashing through those doors proclaiming that, they wanted to kill you!" Ygraine exclaims.

Uther ignores the wild chatter of the people around them.

"Ygraine... when you and I despaired... when you fell into that depression over..."

"The children," Ygraine whispers and her eyes widen. Arthur's eyes widen as well, he knows how many children his parents lost before they had him, their miracle child.

"Yes... I wished to see you happy again, and I knew only a child could give you that happiness... I searched and searched until I came to know of a ritual to summon a creature, a being with the power to grant us our wish... but it was for a price. For Arthur to live, to survive, I did it. The price was my life and I agreed." Then he turns to Arthur. "This... man, I shall call him so, acted as midwife and helped your mother deliver you. You were lifeless in his arms when it was done until he laid you into my arms. He gave you life, Arthur."

"But... if the price was your life... then why now? Why not then?" Arthur yelps and the question is directed at the hooded figure, who smiles kindly and patiently in turn.

"Anything. Your father said he would give anything, and I knew what he meant. He would give anything to make his wife happy. And I could see it was true, and it remains true to this day. Such a heart should be rewarded, and thus I did. I granted him a gift, that I would only collect the debt owed to me when you are no longer a child in my eyes. And on this day, your twentieth birthday, you are no child in the eyes of the Ancients. I am sorry that I must take your father on a day like this, where you should be happy, but I cannot wait much longer, I'm afraid."

"Why not!" Arthur demands though he is trembling. "You waited for twenty years! Why not longer?!"

The hooded figure sighs. "No, I cannot do that. I'm sorry, Arthur. Truly, I am. Losing someone you love is horrible. But you have learned my ballad?"

Arthur is thrown off by the question. "The Ballad of the Broken? The one you just sang?"

The figure smiles. "Yes. It is my ballad. And you are my friend for knowing it."

"I am not a friend of the man who will kill my father!"

"Then I am your friend instead."

"Why are you not gloating that you're the reason he's alive?" Ygraine asks suspiciously.

"Because I see no reason to. He lives, and yes, I am responsible for his life, but it is nothing special. Giving life is not special. Keeping it alive is another matter. I am proud of you surviving, Arthur, through your life. The gods and Ancients know you sought out death at every corner. It is a good thing I gifted you with luck."

"What?"

"When my kind guides a life into the world we give them two gifts. My first gift to you was luck. My second was that I let your father live until you were of age, despite the debt he owes me. You are of age, and he has a debt to pay. I assure you, Arthur, it shall be painless. I will simply guide his life to rest and leave its mortal body. A good place has been chosen for your father's life. His life shall nourish a new spring by Camelot."

"No!" Arthur exclaims and firmly positions himself between the hooded figure and his father. "I will not let you take him!"

The hooded figure regards him for a moment, then looks past him at Uther and Ygraine. Ygraine is clutching at her husband's arm and dares him to try and force her off. A fierce woman and a fierce son, and yet a resigned father. Uther resigned himself to this fate long ago, he has accepted it, but, foolishly, he never gave his family the chance to accept it as well. Death is inevitable, Death is the only guarantee, the one so Ancient that it no longer walks the earth in a mortal body, and yet, the hooded figure sighs. He hated to break tradition so, but then again, he answers to no one, and who will hold him to it? Who but himself? While the rules apply to him, he knows how to work with them so he may do whatever he pleases while remaining snugly within them. He's done it once when Arthur was born.

He's grown weary over his life. Weary and tired. Perhaps he could entertain himself with this, and kindness shall do his life some good. He remembers another who would benefit from it, and, quickly, he regards the future and the consequences of his idea. He picks the one he deems kindest and nods.

"I shall spare your father his debt only under one condition," he declares.

"Anything!" Arthur exclaims and the figure chuckles darkly.

"A dangerous offer, Arthur," he tuts. "I want you to bring me a being more powerful than myself, and teach them the words to my ballad."

"Where can I find someone like that?" Arthur asks, ready and eager to take on this quest to save his father's life.

The figure smiles. "There is only one. He is trapped. He is of your age. Follow his voice, he knows the melody to my ballad, whereas you know the words."

"How much time do you give me?"

"Arthur, no!" Uther exclaims, "Such a quest is too dangerous for you. Arthur, look at me." So Arthur does. "A being such as him will not give you an easy quest. If the price for your life was my own, then the price of this quest will be the same."

The figure approaches Arthur and puts a hand onto his shoulder, long nails digging into his skin, though the grip is gentle. Arthur whirls around, determination glinting in his eyes.

"If the price is my own life, I will gladly pay it," he growls.

"Such fire in your eyes," the figure chuckles. Then, he lifts his hand, in which there is a long leather necklace and a small golden hourglass that hangs from it. "When the sand has run out, your quest has failed. Don't be deceived by its size. It holds enough time for a month. Turn it when you begin your quest."

Arthur takes the necklace from the figure and places it around his neck with trembling fingers. He can feel the power, the life thrumming through the sand into his hands. He feels like his father's life is sitting within it. He has a bad feeling that he isn't far off.

"When do I begin it?"

"You will not go unaided on your quest. Tomorrow, when the sun burns highest in the sky, be ready and meet me in the Winding Woods, I will explain your quest further and I will give you a friend of mine for help." The smile he gives Arthur looks horrible and lethal. "I shall wait for you."

And with that, the figure lets go of Arthur's shoulder and turns around, gliding over the floor and through the doorway. The moment he passes the threshold, the broken doors begin levitating towards it and begin coming together, the pieces fitting together until the doors are firmly shut, like they hadn't been broken at all. Uther collapses upon the floor, the tight grip of Ygraine only barely keeping him up.

"Father!" Arthur exclaims and rushes to his father's side.

"Arthur," he breathes heavily. "My son, what have you done?"

"I am going to save you, father. Please, trust me. You shall live."

"I was ready to give my life for yours, and now I was more ready than ever before because I was allowed to see you grow up into such a fine man." Uther coughs. He is unwell, and Arthur knows why.

"I will be successful, father, I promise. You will live, father. I don't care what awaits me on this quest. I will ensure that you live."

"Oh, Arthur..." are Uther's last words before he faints, looking pale and sick and Ygraine calls for the court physician, who rushes to her side and they carry the king away.

The people, the nobles and servants in the hall mumble and worry. They fear for their beloved king and their beloved prince. Soon, they leave, except for one knight, Sir Leon, who approaches Arthur with pity in his eyes. Sir Leon places a comforting hand onto Arthur's shoulder and Arthur looks up at him and thanks him with a nod before he, too, leaves the room to prepare for the next day.

He packs his things, clothes, food, a bedroll, two blankets, a crossbow and arrows for hunting, a small pot for cooking, flint and steel for starting a fire, two waterskins, some coin for when he needs to buy more supplies or rent a room for the night. He packs all he can think of that he shall need, and packs for another person as well, for he knows not who or what the figure will make him bring along.

The door to his room bursts open, and there stands his mother, tears running down her face. She rushes to him and throws herself into his arms and hugs and holds him close and tight.

"Mother," Arthur breathes in surprise.

"I don't want you to go, Arthur," cries Ygraine. "You were our miracle, our love and hope renewed, and I cannot bear the thought of losing another child." Arthur wants to protest, but then his mother pulls back and holds his cheek and smiles through her tears in pride. "But I know I cannot keep you from trying to save your father. But please, if ever you think you've failed, that you've run out of time, please return. Your father would hate to die without you there. Please, my son, I beg you, be there when your father dies."

Arthur wants to argue he will not fail, but the look his mother gives him is so heartwrenchingly pained that he simply nods and promises what she asks him to.

"I promise, mother. I will return if time runs out. Father will not die without me there."

Ygraine smiles and sighs in relief and brushes away a tear from her eye. "Go to bed, Arthur," she says. "I will tell the servants to prepare everything for you that you haven't yet. Rest for now. I don't want you to begin your quest with too little sleep."

"You as well, mother. I know that this... hits you most of all. Rest, mother, and rest assured that I shall do all that I can possibly do to save father."

"I know. But a mother worries, and you cannot take that from me." She smiles kindly up at her son, marvelling at how he has grown, how he has survived all the odds that were stacked against him. Of course, now she regards it with from a different perspective, for she has another to thank for the life of her son. However, that her husband should die for it... it makes it all taste bitter in her mouth, and any word of thanks she would have had dies on her tongue. She leaves the chamber then and leaves Arthur to get ready for bed.


	2. The Quest Begins

The morning sun glares through the window and wakes Arthur urgently. He groans. He didn't sleep well, his brain too wrecked with worries and doubts and endless questions before the merciful hands of sleep engulfed him in blissful darkness, and yet even then was he granted no rest. Nightmares upon nightmares plagued him and now he feels quite annoyed at it all. He can't even remember what he dreamt. Never mind, he thinks and sighs and gets up, glaring at the sun as it glares at him. He loses the glaring match and begins to dress. He doesn't see the need for a servant for this task when he is not dressing in armour. He shall dress in armour later, just before he leaves, but there are still hours of preparation left for him, for he woke early. He estimates that he has five hours before he must meet the hooded figure in the Winding Woods.

He sighs and, once he is dressed, he leaves his room to continue his preparations. He selects his armour carefully. He has to travel as light as possible while remaining fully protected. Despite his luck in life before, he has an ungood feeling that his luck will not aid him in this, and he must prepare to face the quest without it. His mother and father don't meet him in the throne room as they usually do at this time, but Arthur doesn't mind. He passes by his parents' chambers and only hears his mother's cries. It's all he needs to hear to know he would intrude should he choose to enter.

And so he doesn't.

The servants he passes freeze where they stand and gaze after him with pity and sadness. He feels their eyes on him and his frown deepens into a scowl, but he remains determined. His hand wanders to the necklace around his neck, the golden hourglass. His father's life is in his hands, and he knows he must succeed, or else he would no longer be able to live with himself.

With renewed determination, he finishes the preparations necessary. He checks everything over once more, then looks up at the sky. It is almost noon. He mounts his horse Hengroen and doesn't look back. He cannot tell his mother goodbye. He cannot look her in the eye. Not until his quest has been fulfilled, not until his father's life is saved.

He rides at a good pace and arrives at the edge of the Winding Woods just before the sun is at its zenith, and he dismounts. He steps inside the woods, holding the reins tight and guiding his horse beside him. A few moments later, he feels the world shift. It evokes such a sense of dread within him that he feels sick.

He looks up. There he is. The hooded figure is standing just by the tallest tree in the Winding Woods, the one Arthur fell off of when he was a child and survived with nary a mark to show for it.

"Hello, Arthur. It is good to see you."

"You said you would explain the quest more," Arthur growls out. He is angry. He can only see a being that will be responsible for his father's death should he fail to fulfil the quest it will give him. This feels an awful lot like a game for its entertainment and a bitter taste blooms in his mouth for being a part of it.

"Your quest, Arthur, shall be to find the one person who is more powerful than even I and to teach him the words of the Ballad of the Broken. He knows only the melody, and that is how you will find him. You will know it is him when you hear him sing it, for he is the only person alive who knows it, but you may not ask him to sing. He must do it without your prompting."

"Where can I find him?"

"He is trapped for eternity, or until he is freed. He is a friend of mine."

"That isn't exactly helpful," Arthur snaps.

"I didn't claim it was," the hooded figure laughs, "But in time you shall find value in my words. Another thing. On your quest, you shall meet many people and creatures. I can assure you, to find success, you must exercise kindness, for else, you shall fail. If, at any point, you find him, or if you give up, twist the hourglass five times, and I shall come to you."

Arthur's anger begins to fade into rationality as he processes the information.

"You said there would be someone to help me..." he carefully asks and the hooded figure nods.

"Yes, and I think I shall introduce you two." He turns around and lifts his hand. As he does so, the ground just before him splits open and a glowing blue chain comes crawling out of it.

Arthur flinches back for a moment, staring wide-eyed at the display before him. The glowing chain crawls and climbs upwards into the hooded figure's outstretched hand. The rest of the chain follows and curls around the figure's arm until, finally, a collar of blue fire and steel emerges from the split earth at the end of the chain. The collar crawls to the figure's hand as well, but he does not grab it. Instead, he grabs the chain tighter and snaps it off the collar. The moment he does so, the collar shines brightly, blinding Arthur for a moment. The light, blue and bright and shining, seems to dance and morph and take on form. The light materialises and dissipates, leaving a person there.

Arthur's eyes widen. The man whom the figure conjured is blindingly beautiful and has something otherworldly about him. His raven black hair- no, Arthur thinks, his hair is as dark as the night sky, and it shines in the sun like stars. His skin is as pale as the moon, but freckles are littered across it, yet it only adds to his celestial appearance. But his eyes, by the gods, Arthur is immediately enthralled. His eyes are made of the kiss of the oceans and the skies, the horizon that eludes the sailors and beckons them forth and seduces them with the promise of secrets.

The man notices Arthur's stare and his pale cheeks tint with a rosy red and his eyes dart away shyly. He fixes the red neckerchief around his neck like it's a nervous habit, and he does the same with his plain blue tunic and his brown jacket. His clothes indicate he's a peasant, yet Arthur is no less impressed by his beauty. With the right clothes, this man could convince anyone he is a fae prince.

The hooded figure smirks and chuckles at them both. The seed is sown.

"Arthur, this is Merlin. He is a dear friend of mine and he has agreed to help you on your quest. I've told him about you already. I hope you'll find each other's company not too bothersome." Then he turns to Merlin. "I wish you good luck, Merlin."

"Thank you, Sire," Merlin smiles sadly and nods knowingly.

The figure turns back to Arthur and smiles. "Then it is time for you to begin your quest, Arthur. Turn the hourglass when I am gone."

And with that, the figure disappears, leaving no trace of his existence behind for anyone to stumble upon. Arthur grabs the small golden hourglass around his neck and turns it around. The sand begins flowing and he can feel the pressure of it all begin to set in. He looks up and meets Merlin's eyes, who has come closer now that the figure has gone away. He looks lost and Arthur's stomach turns. He decides to ignore it and frowns.

"You're supposed to help me?" Arthur asks.

"Yes," says Merlin quickly, defensively and Arthur holds up his hands in defence.

"No need to become defensive. Better question: how are you supposed to help me?"

"Well," grumbles Merlin, suddenly looking unsure. "I don't really know. But I have magic?"

This surprises Arthur more than it should have. "A sorcerer?" It makes sense, Arthur thinks. Merlin doesn't look like he can lift his weight, so being a sorcerer can make up for it in combat, should the need arise. Well, provided the man knows any such spells for combat.

"That's not what he calls me. He says I'm a warlock. Not sure what that means, though. You're, uh, you're supposed to look for someone who is...?"

"Someone who is more powerful than... what's his name?"

"I don't know," Merlin shrugs. "He told me to call him Sire, but I know what he is. Well, more or less."

"Either way," Arthur shakes his head, "He said that this person is trapped, so that must be a clue."

"More powerful than him and... trapped..." Merlin mumbles to himself, then his eyes light up, "I think I know someone who it could be!"

Arthur's head shoots up in surprise and he exclaims his excited relief with one loud and triumphant laugh. He didn't think it would be this easy, and he still does not, but it is a good beginning.

"Who! No. Where!"

"I don't know his name, but it's said that an extremely powerful man of magic, who meddled with the Ancient Ones, was trapped in a tower by them for all eternity after a deal-gone-wrong! Do you have a map? No, wait, never mind, I have one right here." Merlin's eyes glow a molten gold and a scroll appears in his hands. He spreads it out on the forest floor and kneels by it, beckoning Arthur to look as well. Merlin points at one end of the map. "Here, see!"

Arthur doesn't see it. "What are you pointing at?"

"There's a tower here. Hidden from mortal eyes by magic. I've seen it, once only, and I could feel the power coming from within the Tower. It's a huge, tall thing, towering into the skies, reaching for the clouds beyond mortal limits," Merlin grins with awe sparkling in his eyes and his fingers trembling in excitement.

"Someone is trapped in there," Arthur points out, "I don't see how that is so awesome."

Merlin flinches. "Well... No, but... It's the power that is. The Ancient One's erected the Tower for this man alone. He must have been very powerful for them to need to do that."

"Never mind," Arthur waves the topic off, "I think this is the man we're looking for." He takes a closer look at the map. "I don't recognise this... where is it?"

"Uh," says Merlin and points to two red dots on the map, farthest away from where he pointed before, "We're here."

"How do you know that?"

"The red dots. He, uh, he gave you that hourglass, yes? It's imbued with magic, obviously, and so is this map, so it shows us where we are, even if we move, the dots move with us, because we both carry something he gave us," Merlin explains and Arthur hums, impressed.

"I've never seen magic like this, so small and yet of such magnitude. Very convenient."

"It takes a lot more magic than one may assume to imbue a fragile object, like parchment. One must take great care with it. If the object breaks the magic flees to the nearest thing or person and enters into them and- well, that is not very pleasant."

Arthur looks up and meets Merlin's eyes. "Did you make the map?"

Merlin blushes at how impressed Arthur sounds. "Y-yes, but, uh, Sire instructed me."

"And it responds to the magic of what he gave me, the hourglass, and you...?"

Merlin nods and his hand reaches up to the neckerchief around his throat. Arthur guesses that's what the hooded figure gave Merlin. An odd look passes over Merlin's features that Arthur cannot decipher, but he decides that it doesn't matter. Arthur nods and then gets up from the ground, holding out a hand for Merlin to take to get up as well.

"We should go then?" Asks Merlin as he rolls up the map but doesn't let it disappear to wherever he conjured it from.

"How far away is the tower?" Arthur asks instead.

"Uh, I think... I think from here it should be a week's ride, or a week and a half, I'm not sure. But... I don't have a horse." Merlin laments.

"What do you have?" Arthur asks, noting that Merlin isn't carrying any bags at all.

"Uh, I can conjure most things I need, so I don't have to carry anything, but I didn't know I needed a horse..."

Arthur shrugs his shoulders, "We'll ride together."

Merlin's brows furrow. "Are you sure? Won't that hurt the horse? Is the saddle even big enough for us both?"

Hengroen, the horse, snorts, quite offended because he thinks Merlin called him weak.

"I had the feeling you wouldn't bring a horse. No offence," he amends.

"None taken, I didn't bring one."

"I took the precaution of saddling my horse with a two-seat saddle. Don't worry about the horse, either, his back is long enough so that you don't hurt him," says Arthur as he mounts his horse and holds out his arm to help up Merlin, who eyes the saddle with suspicion. "And he is strong enough to carry both of us and then some."

"And I won't fall?" He asks cautiously, but he takes Arthur's hand and lets himself be helped onto the horse and saddle. It's a bit of a tight fit, his chest presses against Arthur's lightly armoured back, but he can handle this. The horse snorts and shakes its head. It has carried heavier than this and Merlin is really far too light to add much weight, much less any weight that would come close to the horse's limits.

"Not if you hold on," Arthur says and gulps down the weird feeling he gets with Merlin pressed into his back. Merlin quickly throws his arms around Arthur's waist, his hands meeting at his stomach, and holds on tight. 'Is he afraid?' Arthur wonders but spares Merlin the humiliation of asking. This time. "Now," he says, "Whereto?"

"Uh," Merlin says and pulls back a bit to look at the map, "North- no, sorry. Northeast, not north, sorry."

"Northeast then," Arthur says with a chuckle and brings his horse to move in that direction. Merlin immediately holds on tight again and gives a startled yelp at the sudden movement, at which Arthur wants to laugh, but he isn't so mean, not to a stranger. Because that is what Merlin is.

For a moment Arthur thinks he should be more cautious, more suspicious of it all, and especially of the man at his back. He knows nothing about Merlin, only his name, that he has magic, and that he is apparently a 'friend' of the hooded figure. Arthur wishes he had a name to call that being by, not having a name for the figure unnerves him. There is a certain power to this secrecy, as there is power in a name. But that which holds ultimate power is the illusion of a name, the illusion of an identity, the illusion of knowledge. To be a shadow upon the wall, unclear and yet frightening with its mere presence when looked upon. You know not the source of light, nor of the object that shades the wall.

Is Arthur frightened of the figure? No, he thinks he isn't. He is afraid of its kindness, which is silly to say like that, but Arthur fears the kindness for its intentions. He may well be on a fool's quest, and the kindness is supposed to string him along and convince him of the sincerity of the quest before revealing the smoke and mirrors of trickery to him in a show of braggery and triumph. He doesn't know the figure and he doesn't know Merlin and he doesn't know their intentions. He doesn't know, and that frightens him.

He wonders, while he is on that thought, what Merlin's intentions are. Arthur only knows his name, not his intentions. Why is Merlin helping him? Why was he chosen to help him? Is he supposed to betray him? Is he another trick? Is he an innocent bystander, pulled into this mess against his will? Is there something at stake for Merlin in Arthur's quest? What is Merlin's place within all of this?

With a shake of his head, he rids himself of the questions wrecking his head. They will only make him paranoid. Should he not be? No, he should not. There is more at stake here than himself. If the figure, if this quest is even remotely genuine, the kingdom may be at stake along with his father's life.

Arthur may be crown prince now, and his mother would take on ruling alone if his father were to die, he knows that Camelot would suffer for it. Ygraine is a good queen, but his father's death would kill her in every other way while leaving her alive to suffer. Arthur does not doubt that if his mother had ever died, Uther would have suffered for it too, and the kingdom as well. That is the folly of love, the risk of it, to love so much and so readily that not only you would suffer from the consequences of it dying in your grasp. No, he cannot allow his father to die if he can do anything about it, and he will. He is not naive, but he is also not untrusting. Merlin does not have his trust, and he does not have his mistrust. Merlin must earn each. Arthur has no right to judge him now, he will make his judgement later, once he knows Merlin better.

He does still wonder, though, why Merlin was chosen to help him. What wonder must lie beneath that moonlight skin and behind those horizon eyes? Arthur blushes, he really must cease comparing this stranger to the skies above and ahead, it would cloud his judgement later, surely.

Merlin, on the other hand, is solemn and serious, though he is very obviously flustered because of how Arthur first looked at him when Sire summoned him. There is a reason he is here, he is sure of it, there is a reason Sire chose him specifically, he is sure of it, but he does not know why. It's maddening, to be chosen for this, to be gifted such a chance, and to not know why. It's not like he has earned it, he doesn't think. Some would puzzle over why he needs to know the reason for this chance, but to Merlin, it is quite clear. He has no reason to mistrust Sire, but he has no way to know his intentions either. He knows Sire is genuine and sincere in this quest, whyever this man in front of him is on it in the first place. Merlin knows his place in it all, has known it ever since he was born into Sire's hands. His hand wanders to his neckerchief. He doesn't like what hides beneath and so he keeps it secret.

This is his one and only chance, and he cannot mess it up. He will see this quest to its end, and he will do all he can to make it successful.

———

An ancient call bids the hooded figure to watch them both, and he is happy with what he sees. His seed is sown, now he must only wait for them to reap its benefits off each other. A smile, fanged and rusty, graces his lips as he watches from afar.

His brothers and sisters will wonder why he does this, and he knows they will intervene with their own champions, just to spite him, whom they must answer to. He answers none and they are jealous of him. And he is old and his brothers and sisters are young. They wish no harm, but their jealousy may cause them to do some regardless, and this is the best way for them to vent their resentment. He knows no harm will come off it, and it will only benefit his goal, but he takes care not to make this so obvious that it robs them of their fun.

———

After hours of riding northeast, Arthur decides they better rest for the day, for the sake of them all, and for the sake of the horse. Hengroen may be a proud thing that claims it can carry them both for two days straight without water or food, but Arthur knows the limits of his horse. Seeing as it is also late evening, with the sun nearly set, he doesn't see the sense in continuing. He dismounts before helping Merlin down as well and then he binds Hengroen to a nearby tree's branch, a low hanging one so that Hengroen may graze as he pleases. It's as good a resting place as any and he decides to make camp here.

"All right," he says decisively, "I'll prepare the bedrolls and gather some stones for the fire. You go and gather firewood."

At first, Merlin is surprised being told what to do, and in such an authoritative tone, and he instinctively moves deeper into the forest, but not too far away, to fulfil the order. Only when he has already gathered half of what they will need for a fire, he realises what just happened and he does not like it. He thought that he would be spared orders on this quest, but alas, no. Then he shakes his head and finds himself silly. It's not that he doesn't know that each of them needs to pull their weight and do certain jobs, it's just that he does not like being ordered to do things. A simple please or a different tone would have been enough for him.

When he returns with all the wood they need, he finds the bedrolls laid out near a half-done circle of stones and the ground around them cleared. He hums in approval and sets the firewood down beside the half-done stone circle and begins to stack the lumps of wood in it to his satisfaction. Moments later, Arthur returns with a few more stones and places them down and finishes the circle.

"Can you light it?" Arthur asks.

Suddenly feeling offended, because to him it sounds like Arthur is questioning his skill, Merlin snaps, "Of course I can!"

Arthur raises his hands in defence. "I didn't mean to offend. I just don't know what you're capable of and what not. I don't want to embarrass you by assuming you can do something that you cannot and expecting it of you."

This mollifies and embarrasses Merlin in the same breath and he whispers a small, "Oh," and he blushes and frowns at himself. He lifts his right hand and wills the logs to catch fire. His eyes glow a molten gold, Arthur's breath hitches at the sight of it, and the logs are set ablaze under his power.

"Can you cook?" Merlin asks after a few minutes of awkward silence.

"Not very well, I'm afraid. I packed food that doesn't need to be cooked to be eaten for that very reason."

Merlin laughs. He's not sure why, but the revelation that Arthur is no good cook is funny to him.

"Yeah, I thought as much," Merlin says with a grin.

Arthur's eyes narrow, unsure whether he should feel offended. "Oh? Did you?"

"Yeah. I mean, you don't look like someone who cooks often," Merlin says, gesturing vaguely at Arthur. He hasn't actually taken a closer look at Arthur, and now is his chance to.

In the deepening darkness and the light of the fire, there is a regal look about Arthur, his golden hair shining in the flickering light, and the shadows dancing on his cheeks seem so mysterious. He sees the light armour Arthur is wearing, and he wonders who he must be. Is he rich? Is he important? He doesn't want to ask, but he wants to know. There is something that draws Merlin to him, and he is especially struck by how handsome the man is. The blonde hair reminds him of the sun, now setting because of the flames, his skin glows golden as well and his eyes, Merlin is taken aback by them especially, the blue of the night sky giving way to daylight, and Merlin catches himself wishing to transform into his namesake and take flight into the skies he sees. There is a freedom in those eyes that Merlin desperately yearns for, and maybe that is what is drawing him to this man. But he wants to know him and not let his heartbeat for shallow beauty, no matter how entrancing.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Arthur raises a brow, less offended and more amused. It's true, he doesn't cook often, hence his lack of skill.

"You look like a knight or something," Merlin shrugs, "What with the armour. I hear they don't do anything themselves and have servants for everything."

"Not everything," Arthur says in defence. But he must concede. "But most things, yes."

"See? No wonder you can't cook!" Merlin laughs.

"Can you?" Arthur challenges.

"I make a good herb soup," Merlin says with a shrug of his shoulders, "I think..."

"You think?"

Another shrug, "No one else ever ate it... I mean, not that there was anyone who needed to. Never mind. I'm not hungry anyway. You eat whatever you brought and I'll just... fill up the waterskins you brought. There's a stream not far from here, some twenty yards that way." He points and gets up, gathering the half-empty waterskins in his arms and disappearing quickly.

Arthur decides that he's not very hungry either, and he eats only one of the apples he brought along. He's surprised at how not hungry he is, considering they did just spend half the day riding. Perhaps he'll feel the hunger tomorrow. Perhaps it's the stress that robs him of appetite. He doesn't want to think about the consequences of this quest if he fails, if he runs out of time. He can't imagine the kingdom without his father. Somehow, Arthur never even imagined becoming king without his father being there to guide him, along with his mother, of course. It just never crossed his mind that, one day, his father would be no more. It's a horrid thought.

He is so far down the rabbit hole of melancholy, which gripped him so suddenly that he had not the strength to shake it at first, when he is pulled out of it by the sound of someone crying. Only a moment later, Merlin comes running back into the camp, looking worried- no, looking _terrified_. Arthur jumps up and looks around in confusion, trying to find the source of the crying which seems to come from every direction at once.

"Do you hear that?" Arthur asks Merlin.

"Yes, and we have to leave!"

"Leave?" Arthur stares at Merlin incredulously. "Someone's out there crying, they need help!"

"No, I know those cries! Those aren't the cries of a human in need. Those are lurers!"

"Lurers?"

"Horrible, nasty things, horns covered with eyes, wings with thorns that tear you up, the face and voice of a human, but don't be fooled by their cries or it's your doom," Merlin says like he's reciting a mother's cautionary tale. He grabs Arthur's wrist and tries to drag him away, but Arthur pulls back and tears his wrist out of Merlin's tight grip. He's surprised at how difficult it is, at how strong his grip is, but all is drowned out when he sees the look of utter and complete terror shining in those eyes.

"What do they do?" Arthur hazards asking.

"They lure people to them with children's cries, then they pierce into your chest with their horns and tear you in two with their thorned wings and feast on what's insi-"

At that moment, something horrible tears through the trees from behind them. Arthur whirls around and pulls out his sword. Instinctively, he pushes Merlin further behind him as he faces the horrible creature before him. Merlin shrieks in fear and Arthur is quite inclined to voice his own horror at what he's seeing. Whatever image Merlin's description of the beast was in his mind before, it is nothing compared to the monster snarling down at him. The thing is ten feet tall, with leathery wings covered in bloody thorns protruding from its back, its horns curls around its head, its neck, half down what looks like its chest, and up again, pointing up, and they're covered in red, bleeding eyes. It has claws that look like steel and they glint dangerously in the sun. Its face is indeed very human, and perhaps that is the worst thing about it, such a human face on something so horrible.

It swipes at Arthur with its steel claw and he pushes Merlin to the side and meets the claw with his blade. He is pushed back and onto the ground and the creature is upon him in a moment. He rolls to the side to barely avoid its horns piercing him and he throws the dagger he has on his belt into one of its countless eyes. It cries out and falls backwards, the ground shakes upon impact and Arthur stumbles, but he loses no time. Thinking he found the beast's weakness, he begins attacking the eyes on its horns, and the beast cries out with every swipe, swiping back blindly.

Distantly, because his ears are deaf with the sound of his blood rushing, he hears Merlin cry out something, and his blade suddenly bursts into flame, but they do not attempt to lick at him but rather at the beast. He swipes again at the beast, this time at its wings, and they catch fire from the flame. It cries out horribly, a shriek to rival the throes of death, and then falls upon the ground heavily, shaking the earth, and it writhes and cries and screams in pain. Arthur stumbles backwards at those cries. They sound so real. Of course they're real, he shakes his head, the creature is in pain, it's on fire for goodness sake, of course its pain and cries are real!

He throws a glance at Merlin, who stares at the creature with cold eyes like it's a bug to be squished mercilessly. He suddenly hates that look and he approaches the creature and drives his sword straight through its heart, whispering his apologies at the burning flesh. Its movement ceases, as do its cries, and it is dead.

He turns to Merlin and growls, "You shouldn't have done that."

Surprised by the anger bubbling in Arthur's voice, Merlin shoots back, "It was going to kill you! What else was I to do?"

Arthur knows that, to some degree, Merlin is right, but he does not like the approach. "You didn't do anything after it caught fire- why?"

"It was already dying!"

"And suffering needlessly all the while," Arthur points out.

"It was going to kill you!"

"And you think it right to make it suffer for it? Somehow, I get the feeling you could've just killed it like that, painlessly, am I not right?"

Merlin looks stricken and his gaze hits the ground, a shameful blush on his ears and across his cheeks as he gives the tiniest nod in affirmation.

"Then why didn't you?"

Merlin looks ready to defend himself again, "I-" but then he falters and his hand reaches up to his neckerchief and he plays with the fabric for a moment before his hand drops like he touched something hot and burning, "I don't know."

Arthur studies him closely and finds guilt in his eyes. Then he sighs. "Please," he says, "Don't do it again. I do not enjoy killing, but when I must, I like to make it as painless as possible. I will not be cruel when I kill as well. And fire is the cruellest death I know."

Merlin hugs himself and looks anywhere but Arthur, mumbling something that sounds suspiciously like, "Lucky you then."

"Merlin," Arthur says, more softly this time, "I'm sorry I lashed out at you."

"No," says Merlin, surprising Arthur, "It's fine, I get it. I just... fire always came easiest to me."

That's a surprise if Arthur ever heard one. Fire is the most difficult element to tame for sorcerers, and one must be incredibly powerful to wield it. But for fire to come 'easiest' to one- Arthur fears he isn't educated enough in the field of theoretical magic to know what that means, but he is sure it means something extraordinary.

"I just- it's always- fire-" Merlin cuts himself off repeatedly before he finally manages to push a full sentence past his lips, "Fire was the first magic I learnt to tame, and it's always been the easiest for me to wield. It comes at my calling, burns at my beckoning, and dies at my wish. I don't even have to think about it, not really, to just... do it. Whatever that means. It comes easiest and so it's always the first thing I think of. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have let it burn..."

Arthur nods because he can't say that it's all right, because it's not. But he smiles at Merlin anyway and nods, and Merlin looks relieved. And Arthur realises, what happened has happened, and there is nothing to be done about it but learn from it and move forward. He hopes Merlin did learn from it, though Arthur is not the best of teachers when it comes to these things.

"Just don't do it again," says Arthur softly. Merlin's eyes meet his and Arthur is taken aback by the hope and gratitude that suddenly shines back at him, and his breath is stolen from him for a moment. Merlin has the eyes of someone who could not kill, there is such an innocence to them that Arthur can hardly believe, especially after what he just witnessed. It is such a stark contrast that it makes Arthur dizzy to think about, and it also makes him trust the man a little less and somehow a little more. Less, because no one trustworthy could switch so easily between cold, hard eyes that are used to killing, and pure innocence in the next moment. More, because- well, he can't right explain it. The remorse, perhaps, the true remorse. It's like Merlin had never been scolded for something like that, which makes Arthur wonder again about this man.

Arthur already admitted to himself that Merlin is incredibly beautiful, and there is no shame in admitting it, for it seems as truthful as any simple fact of nature. The sky is blue, the moon is white, Merlin is beautiful. It fits right in and very snugly so. But he does worry if that could cloud his judgement as well. He doesn't wish to misjudge Merlin. Somehow, Arthur fears that if he should misjudge Merlin, that would be the gravest mistake of his life.

"I won't," Merlin says with such sincerity that it pierces Arthur's heart.

"Good," says Arthur with a smile. "I think our camp is still intact. I'll go and calm the horse, you can sleep. I'll take first watch."

"Ah, Arthur?" Merling takes Arthur by the wrist, gently this time, without any of the terrified urgency of before, "You don't need to stay awake. I'll set up wards, they'll make us practically unnoticeable and I will be alarmed if someone comes too close."

Arthur nods. "Good, then we can both rest properly."

But he knows he will not rest properly tonight. He knows that his worries will haunt him as they had the night before. He knows it and he dreads it. Falling asleep does not seem like a prospect he would like to pursue at all, and the more he thinks about it, the more he dreads it.


	3. The Hangman's Wife's Sorrow Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so, I've been busy, but now he chapter is here! I also have a new laptop, finally, since my other one's been broken for months and I've been using the family computer to get shit done and watch Netflix, rewatching Merlin, etc, etc. I hope you enjoy!!

One cannot travel with a person and not learn to know them intimately, no matter how secretive that other person is. On a related note, being secretive is an exhausting habit to keep up if one if not used to it for all their life. Add these facts together and you find that because it is so exhausting to be secretive for long, one may slip up enough to reveal things one did not want to reveal to the person with whom they are travelling. Thus two unrelated facts, when they become related, forge a third fact that is just as true as its predecessors.

Arthur can tell that Merlin will be difficult to figure out, the day's events proved as much to him. The harsh contrast between his ice-cold glare at the burning beast, and the sincere remorse glinting in them when Arthur scolded him for it. It's already a mystery to him.

He stares up at the night sky while Merlin is snoring lightly next to him. The fire crackles quietly to his left, and it will likely die out in a few minutes, but Arthur doesn't add any more wood to it. The night isn't cold, barely a breeze crosses the clearing, so there's no point in it. He sighs. Without him wanting to, his head turns to the side and his gaze is met with Merlin's sleeping face. He doesn't look much different asleep than waking. In fact, he doesn't look like he's sleeping at all. He looks restless if anything, and so Arthur hazards to speak.

"Are you sleeping?" He asks quietly, just in case Merlin really is sleeping.

"No," Merlin replies just as quietly. He doesn't even bother opening his eyes.

"Can't sleep?"

"Can you?" Merlin retorts.

Arthur chuckles quietly. "No, I can't."

A moment of silence passes between them. Finally, Merlin opens his eyes and regards Arthur with a soft yet calculating look in his eyes, like he's assessing Arthur, but not to find a weakness. It's reassuring, somehow.

"Sire said you're on a quest..." Merlin begins, then trails off for a moment before continuing, "What kind of quest?" Arthur frowns and turns his head to look back up at the night sky. He sighs but doesn't yet say anything, because there is just so much to say that he can't decide with what to begin. Merlin interprets the silence as a line crossed, and he quickly backs away from the topic. "Sorry, I didn't mean to pry. Forget I asked, it's none of my business."

"No," Arthur interjected, "It is. You're on this quest with me, after all... to help..."

"I-" he cuts himself off and just nods instead, knowing Arthur would likely see it in his peripheral vision.

"It's about my father. When he and my mother were younger, they tried to have children, but none of them survived..."

"I'm sorry," Merlin feels compelled to say.

Arthur throws him a quick thankful smile before he continues, "They were so desperate to have a child that survives that..."

"Your father summoned Sire..." Merlin finishes.

Arthur nods somberly. "He did, and he bargained his life for... for mine. But his... his 'debt' wasn't collected on the day I was born. Instead, he got to live for another twenty years."

"And... you're on a quest…" Merlin mutters more to himself in dawning realisation.

"I can't let him die. On my twentieth birthday, that being came back. To 'collect his debt', but I couldn't let him do that. Not to my father- I couldn't let my father die because of me. He bargained his life for mine even though he didn't know if I would be worth it... I'm not... I'm not worth my father's life..."

His sombre tale leaves no room for discussion, but Merlin wedges himself in the non-existent space anyway.

"Yes, you are," he says. He's not firm or reassuring when he says it. It's said like Arthur just claimed the sky to be green and he's correcting him.

"What?" Arthur's head whirls to glare at Merlin's calm and neutral look. "I am not worth my father's life!" He exclaims.

"But you are. If the trade hadn't been fair, Sire wouldn't have made the offer. The Ancient Rules don't care if we think the trade isn't fair. They proclaim the summoner pays the debt they agreed to, and if that debt is their life for creating a life, then that is fair. The Ancient rules care not if you think your life is worth less than the one bargained, because it is not."

"So, what? Some ancient somethings just decided that human lives are just some currency?!" Arthur yelps angrily.

"No," Merlin shoots him down, "Not 'human lives'. Every life. From humans, to plants, to animals. Everything. Every life weighs the same on the Ancient Ones' scale. Your father's life is worth the same as that of an ant," there is no malice and no anger in his voice, only conviction that what he says is simple and true, "And it is worth the same as that of a dragon. No life outweighs another in worth. What you're thinking of is importance."

"Right, so I'm not worth less than my father, but less important then?" He spits the question like acid.

Merlin shrugs, looking unfazed by Arthur's anger, though he is anything but. "I don't know how important you or your father are. But I'm sorry for your loss."

"No," Arthur growls, "I haven't lost him yet. That's why I'm on this quest. If I can find this person, this person who is more powerful than this- this 'Sire', then my father's life will be spared. That's the bargain, the deal I struck."

Merlin blinks in surprise. "That's very kind of him... and very brave of you."

"Brave?!" Arthur exclaims like he's questioning an accusation, then he realizes what Merlin said and repeats, softer this time, "Brave?"

"Not many would try and talk an Ancient One out of claiming the debt owed to them, much less offer themselves instead," Merlin states like it's obvious and Arthur must wonder why Merlin knows these things about 'Ancient Ones' and so forth.

"I never told you I offered my own life," Arthur says warily, "Does that mean I'll die on this quest? Is that what this quest is about? Me dying!"

"No," Merlin insists, "If you succeed, your father will live, and so will you. You said that was the deal you struck, and that is how it shall go. Sire is bound by the Ancient Rules, he must give you the chance to beat the conditions he set."

Arthur is quiet for a moment in sombre contemplation. Then he turns his head again to gaze at Merlin. All anger has left his eyes as he stares into Merlin's eyes, which are now opened. He can just suppress a gasp when he sees the stars above twinkling in Merlin's eyes as well.

"How do you know all this?" Arthur asks.

Merlin frowns and shakes his head, then turns his head so he looks at the sky above.

"I don't know my father. I don't know my mother either. You're lucky, to have them both and know what it's like. And to have a father who is worthy of your battles and quests..." Merlin says to avoid answering Arthur's question. "You're lucky..."

"I'm sorry," Arthur whispers.

Merlin snorts humourlessly, "For what? Being a prat?"

Arthur ignores the defensive comment. "I'm sorry you never got to know your parents."

"Yeah, well... maybe it's for the better," he growls but refuses to elaborate, and so Arthur feels like it would only drive him away if he were to ask further about it. It's so very obviously a sore subject.

Both of them are staring up at the starlit sky above them, mesmerized by the night's gentle blanket upon the sky, when they both finally drift off into restless deep slumber.

Neither of them dreams that night. Arthur being too exhausted for his mind to conjure up a show for him. Merlin has never had a dream in his life, and he would not start dreaming now. No, not even in his most vulnerable state would his mind delude him with thoughts or images of freedom.

The next morning, Arthur wakes well before Merlin, and he begins making some form of breakfast, suddenly very hungry. Merlin is out cold behind him as Arthur tends to the fire — the morning is colder than the night was, certainly — and he stirs the pot in which their breakfast is cooking. Nothing seems to have happened at all last night, nothing even came through the clearing and Arthur must wonder if that was partly because of Merlin's wards he set up, or perhaps the lingering smell of burnt lurer. Once he is satisfied with the quickly-thrown-together broth, he gets up to tend to the horse for a bit. Hengroen is a strong horse, all things considered, but it is a proud thing as well, and mimicks some choice humans as well in its tendency to overwork itself and not rest until a job is done, and so it is one of Arthur's duties to ensure the horse is properly rested, amongst other things. Hengroen is often more human than other humans are, it has often astounded and exhausted Arthur in the same breath.

He needn't have worried it seems, for Hengroen is happily eating away at the grass and Arthur give it an apple as a little treat which Hengroen accepts excitedly and eagerly munches on the apple it is given. Arthur hears Merlin's blanket rustle as Merlin stirs awake, grumbling and rubbing his eyes against the light of morning in his eyes. All of a sudden, Merlin jumps up, as if frightened by something, whirling around, eye wide with uncertainty and confusion, until his eyes find Arthur and he seems to be remembering something — perhaps where he is — and something rather close to relief settles his frenzied gaze down and calm.

He still doesn't look entirely all right, so Arthur hazards to check up on him. He walks over to the broth, a quick glance assuring him it isn't burnt, and he scoops some up and pouts it into two bowls, one of which he hands to Merlin.

"You all right?" He asks carefully as he hands Merlin the wooden bowl with the broth in it.

Merlin's head snaps up, as if he didn't anticipate being spoken to, and he clumsily takes the bowl with both hands. "I- huh?" he stutters eloquently and Arthur chuckles in mild amusement, but then his worry takes over.

"Are you all right? You seem to be… out of it."

"I'm fine, I just… I thought I was somewhere else, is all…" Merlin mumbles as he sips at his broth and scrunches his nose in disgust. "This tastes awful." But he only makes a move to at more instead of discarding it like others may have done.

"I think we established I don't know how to cook," Arthur rolls his eyes. "You mean you thought you were… home?"

Merlin looks at him, confused. "Home?" He says, like he's never heard the word before, like his tongue has never tasted it before and he's trying to grasp its meaning.

"Yes… _home_, Merlin. You _do_ have a home, don't you?" Arthur asks almost teasingly.

"Um… probably…?" Merlin answers unsurely. Arthur blinks.

"What do you mean 'probably'? Either you do, or you don't."

"Well, then I don't know. I also don't see how that's important. We should just eat and then be on our way to the Tower," Merlin grumbles defensively, sipping at his broth and wincing at the taste.

Arthur, perturbed by this answer, elects to ignore it and instead eat the broth in his own bowl. Merlin is right, it tastes awful, but it's the only thing they have at the moment and it is simply another piece of evidence showcasing his lack of cooking skills. He really should learn better. Merlin sips at the broth as well, and he extends his hand, summoning, with a golden glow of his eyes, the map into it. He rolls it open, and takes a look at it, inviting Arthur to do so as well. Arthur leans over the map, following as Merlin's finger trace the path they would have to take to get to the Tower.

"So, we're here," Merlin points to the two red dots that Arthur now knows represent them, "We have to get through these lands, outside of Camelot's reach. By the Hangman's Tree, here," he points at an odd-looking drawing of a tree with a noose hanging from it, "There's someone who can provide us shelter for the night for a mall token. Then past the Hidden Kingdom-"

"Hidden Kingdom?" Arthur parrots and Merlin nods.

"A dangerous place if you don't have magic or aren't a monster. Don't worry, we're only coming close to the border, we won't actually cross it."

"Somehow, that doesn't sound very safe either," Arthur grumbles barely above a breath. "Then where?"

"Then we have to cross the Darkling Woods and the Tower will be just behind a system of tunnels, practically a labyrinth. As I said, it should be one and a half weeks of riding, if we're quick about it. I think."

"You think?"

"What is it with you and repeating things I say?"

Arthur' cheeks redden in embarrassment. "Shut up," he says out of reflex and averts his eyes.

Merlin raises a brow and shakes his head. "Anyway, yeah, I think. I haven't exactly had the chance to check for myself how time and space work here."

Arthur is just going to ignore that last comment.

"Good," he says, instead of asking what Merlin meant with that last statement, and he finishes his broth. "We should clean up and head out then."

And so they do, Merlin finishes his broth shortly after Arthur and they gather what they took from the bags and put them away again. Merlin puts out the fire with his magic and, in a move that leaves Arthur surprised but impressed, with a flick of his hands, the spot where the fire was, immediately grows grass, and it looks like nothing has touched that spot in the first place. It's done so casually that Arthur nearly doesn't process what just happened. All he can do is stare at the spot where, just a moment ago, a fire roared, but where now healthy green grass sits innocently living. He blinks in surprise, his eyes moving back and forth between the spot and Merlin who moves to retrieve the map from the floor and lets it disappear in a flash of magic.

Just what else is Merlin capable of? Arthur wonders, but doesn't dare to pose the question aloud. Instead, he tends to Hengroen, feeds it another apple, and saddles it again, focusing all his attention on the saddle straps, making sure everything is properly tied, and ignoring Merlin cleaning up the clearing with his magic. It is incredibly difficult, however, to ignore the magic crackling behind his back. Just because he cannot see it, does not mean he cannot feel it right there. And what a feeling it is. Arthur has been around sorcerers before, sorcerers and witches and druids and so on, he knows what magic feels like, he knows that it is extremely difficult to learn it, much less master it. But this? This feeling of magic completely outshines whatever Arthur has felt of before. There is just raw power crackling within that magic, and it makes a shiver run down Arthur's spine. He doesn't have to look to feel it, and it is strangely intense.

"All right," Arthur pushes the words through gritted teeth and shake his head in an effort to clear it of the thoughts he had, "We had better go. Are you ready?" And he mounts the horse and turns his head to Merlin, extending a hand down to him.

Merlin smiles, takes the hand offered to him, and lets himself be helped onto the horse. "Ready if you are."

"Then let's go."

"Hangman's Tree, northeast from here," Merlin says and holds on tight to Arthur as his own chest is pressed into Arthur's back.

"I can't wait," Arthur says ironically.

Hangman's Tree sounds like the last place any person would willingly want to go. Arthur does not want to imagine what the place itself is like. Worrying only means you'll suffer twice, and he s quite content with suffering once and once only.

———

The figure watches the two of them intently, very happy with how things are already progressing, when, suddenly, one of his sisters materialises behind him. He has expected her, he is just surprised it took her this long to find him and find out what he did.

The darkness of her very essence seeps into the shadows surrounding him and sucks the light from his surroundings, until the only thing he can see is her, the Darkness.

"Dearest brother!" She exclaims, her voice dark and sinister.

The figure, the ancient being, smiles and chuckles at her antics. "Dear sister." He greets in return with a nod.

"I must wonder, dearest brother, why have you granted this mortal a chance to be free?" She asks, her voice dropping into a low rumble.

"I gave him a chance to fight for his freedom, his life. He deserves it."

"Despite what his father has done?" His sister roars with laughter that rings malicious in his ears.

"His father has nothing to do with this, my dear sister. He deserves a chance despite his father's dealings." He says with a roll of his eyes.

"I, for one, think not so. If we allow him to be like his father-"

"If he does become like his father, we know how to deal with him, my dear sister. You can rest assured that I will not allow a repeat of that man."

"Well, I won't rest, dearest brother. If you're abetting this, I have to stop it!" She exclaims passionately.

"You really don't have to." He doesn't try particularly hard to dissuade her, he knows he can't either way.

"I said I shall, and so I shall," she growls dangerously. He simply shrugs.

"I shan't stop you, dear sister. But I must enforce a few rules on the matter."

"I know, dearest brother." She begins to list the rules, "No direct interaction, no action may cause immediate or painful death, only minions, only suggestions. Only if suggestions cause death it shall be fair and legal as per the Ancient Rules that govern us all, cross my heart and hope to die, yadda yadda."

"That last part was a rather original addition to the matter," he chuckles.

"Been working on it, glad you noticed, dearest brother. I think I shall employ the help of a friend of mine. They are on their way to my tree after all."

"I find it curious that you claimed a tree as yours, and yet you wish to keep me from becoming involved in this world we left." He chuckles at her expense.

The darkness grows thicker in defence. "I do not have to justify myself to you, dearest brother."

"Yes, you do," he points out and his sister growls.

"Maybe I do, but I will not do so unless asked, and don't you dare ask it of me, dearest brother." Her voice is a low gravel that vibrates through the forest, unsettling birds from their rest in the trees.

"I would never force you, dear sister, unless the Rules force me as well. And you know me, I shall exploit every loophole to avoid that fate for you."

The dark features of his sister soften. "I shall begin now, then, dearest brother."

And with that, she is gone, as is the darkness that heralds her arrival. He smiles with all his rusty fangs on display. Pride shines through his heart at the thought of his sister alerting everyone else of his plans, all other brothers and sisters and siblings. He begins to feel rather excited about what is to come. His sister would no doubt make this a whole lot more interesting. He is sure there will be a lot to watch and watch out for, and he is rather interested in how things shall turn out. Of course, he knows what shall be and shall not be in the end, but the journey to that end shall provide enough entertainment for him and his sisters and brothers and siblings.

He regards Arthur and Merlin from afar, but with his eyes, he can see every detail, and he can see everything within them as well. He sees the thoughts, sees them for what they are, and he grins in anticipation. He cannot wait until things turn, until they find what they're both seeking, even if neither of them is aware that is what they're searching for. But, oh, soon they shall. It should take about a month for them to find what they're looking for. He is curious how they will first react to finding it. It shall bring about a new age, one that shall be golden and leave those beholding it, breathless, but first, the heralds of this golden age must be revealed.

And, oh, how exquisite this revelation shall be!

———

The wind in his hair and Merlin at his back, Arthur manoeuvres Hengroen over stick and stone and root and hill. They ride for an hour, then another, then another, before they come across a sign in the middle of the road and Arthur halts his horse before it, for its message troubles him.

_Beware the Hangman's Wife! Beware her Sorrow!_

Thus reads the sign and it troubles Arthur to read it. Merlin peaks over his shoulder to see why they stopped so suddenly, and he too is disturbed by the sign and what it reads. He frowns and, instinctively, tightens his hold around Arthur, which does not go by unnoticed by the aforementioned. A warm feeling suddenly blossoms in Arthur's chest and banishes the cold dread he feels at reading the sign.

Merlin, however, feels the dread run cold into his stomach and it makes him feel unpleasantly heavy and forlorn. The sign makes him uncomfortable, he dreads what it warns them of.

Arthur clicks his tongue and continues onwards, keeping the warning the sign gave him in mind, but not focusing on it. He refuses to focus on the warning, but he cannot, despite the warmth of Merlin at his back, ignore the dread it makes him feel. He breathes in deeply, holds it for a moment, and exhales, a breathing technique one of the knights taught him at an early age to calm his nerves before a battle. He repeats the technique three more times until he feels better and his mind can focus on the path ahead instead of the dread pooling in his stomach.

The forest splits around them, the trees become fewer and they exit the forest shortly thereafter. In the distance, they spot a hill upon which stands a tall, dead-looking tree. Its branches wind around itself in thin black spindles and reach up to the sky like a drowning man. Nooses hanging from every branch, it very nearly looks like they're growing from the tree like fruits, but Arthur doesn't want to get a closer look to check if that is indeed the truth, he wouldn't know how to react either way, or what to do with the information. In the end, he feels the dread in his stomach increase and pooling thicker and churning his insides at the mere sight of the tree and the nooses hanging from it.

The closer they ride to the tree, the bigger it appears, until, no twenty yards away, it looms over them like a fortress. The branches, now that they are close enough to see, look like hands and arms protruding from the black bark of the tree, holding the nooses threateningly in their direction, as if promising them they shall be the next victims who shall wear this lethal jewellery till death takes them off.

A sinister sort of feeling, much worse than dread, pools in Merlin's stomach and makes him retch in revulsion at the sight of the tree and the nooses. But although he is repulsed by the mere sight of it, something seems to draw him closer against all sense, and the pulling, now stronger than ever, seems determined not to let him go. A whimper escapes his mouth as the pulling becomes painful, bordering on agony, the closer they are to the tree.

Then, they spot it, a little hut at the foot of the tree on the hill. It looks shabby and old and worn, much like the tree, all in black with holes in its roof and a little window with tattered grey drapes. Who may have lived in this house?

Suddenly, Hengroen whinnies and halts and stomps its hooves, shaking its head and stopping completely, refusing to go another step forward. Confusion grips Arthur, which he allows as it relieves him momentarily of the pure dread in his stomach.

"What's wrong?" He whispers soothingly to the horse in an effort to calm the suddenly anxious animal down, but it wouldn't help.

"This is a bad place," growls Merlin, trembling at the pain of the pull and gripping Arthur tighter.

"We just have to pass it," assures Arthur but Merlin shakes his head.

"It won't let us pass. Don't you feel it? It wants us. It won't let us go until it has us." His voice drops into a pained whisper and his grip grows ever tighter, as though he has to keep Arthur from jumping off the horse and running to the nooses.

Arthur carefully considers Merlin's words before he replies, "What does it want from us?" His voice is quieter than usual, he's trying not to startle Merlin who sounds like he's about to faint of fear, though this really isn't the case. Unbeknownst to Arthur, the pain and dread in Merlin's stomach prompts him to take on a defensive stance rather than one where he'd cower. He's ready to fight, if anything.

"It wants us. Only us. Our Sorrow." Merlin gasps as the pain intensifies and he doubles over and presses his face into Arthur's back. His eyes glow golden as his magic instinctively defends him, but it's unfocused and cannot help him beyond making sure he does not follow the pull. If Merlin were better trained he would be able to consciously deflect this attempt at his mind. He briefly wonders why Arthur does not seem affected in the least by the pull of the Hangman's Tree, why he does not seem to feel the pain of it. Arthur is hardly aware of the pain pulling in Merlin's stomach, but he knows that something is very wrong.

He tries to make Hengroen move at all, perhaps to move backwards and around the tree, back down the hill so they can avoid it in the first place, but the horse would not move, it refused to take a single step backwards, nor a single step forwards, it doesn't move to the side, whether left or right, it's as though it's rooted to the spot in fear, and Merlin can very well feel the fear that has gripped the horse's heart, along with the magic that has grabbed ahold of it and forcing it still.

Then, the door to the shabby little hut opens, and a very old and withered woman slowly trembles forward, leaning on a crutch for support. Her grey hair is long and billows as though a breeze is grabbing it for a dance, but there is no wind, which Arthur notices only a moment later. Merlin hunches over and glares at the woman, he can feel the magic burning in her, and he does not like it one bit. The old woman scratches her plump crooked nose, her wrinkles look like they hide the secrets of the world in their depth and her eyes burn yellow with magic. Her hands, as withered and wrinkly as her face, bear long fingers that may have once belonged to a skilled musician, but would never again hold an instrument in their age, for they have forgotten how to play. She is old, in every sense of the word, but it seems to mean more when related to her.

She opens her mouth, twisted in a cruel grin, and she speaks with a voice of those who burn to death, "Good travellers, won't you come inside? I'm sure your company will be good for this old lady."

She beckons them closer with one of her long fingers, and Merlin feels the pull in him tighten and the pain intensifies so much that he nearly yelps. It is a horrible pain, but Merlin knows how to conceal it after so many years of practise. Arthur notices Merlin flinch, and he can feel the dread in his stomach worsen. He takes a deep breath, holds it, then releases it, and he speaks.

"My lady, I'm sure your company is delightful, however, we are in some hurry to arrive at our destination," he tries to reject her offer politely, but she old woman frowns. Arthur can feel her glare burn into his eyes and he banishes the urge to avert them.

"It would be a pity, truly, if you did not keep me company for a night. I'm sure you have enough time for at least a night?" If Arthur didn't know better, he would nearly think that her tone was almost, very nearly hopeful.

Merlin speaks up with a pained growl, "I think _not_."

The old woman's frown grows deeper. "You are quite rude for your age, my boy," she spits.

Before Merlin can say anything else, Arthur speaks before him, "We may be able to spend a night, although we must depart early tomorrow, you understand?"

Mollified and satisfied with his answer, the old woman smiles cruelly at him. "Of course, Your Highness." And she grants him a little bow, barely respectful to his station of which she is very clearly aware, but Arthur doesn't care for these things and lets it slide without a second thought. Merlin, however, is surprised at the title, although he cannot make his confusion known for fear he reveals the pain he's experiencing which he does not want Arthur to know of.

He doesn't want Arthur to think he's weak. He isn't. He is not _weak_.

Arthur dismounts and helps Merlin down as well, who protests despite the pain growling within his stomach that makes him want to pull away and run in the opposite direction of the old woman and the tree. The old woman beckons them to follow her, leading them into her little shack of a hut. The inside of it is a reflection of its outside, every bit of furniture is old and withered and rotting away, the drapes have holes in them as do the bedsheets on the tiny bed in the corner, and the room stinks of rotting flesh and mouldy bread. If there were no magic painfully jabbing at Merlin, he would flinch anyway from the smell alone. Ants are crawling across the boards of the wall, flies are circling a rotting pie on the window sill and the bed looks like it is a nest for fleas. The old woman motions for them to take a seat, but the chairs all look like they would turn to dust at a mere glance thrown their way, and if the magic weren't making Arthur nervous, the prospect of turning a chair to dust by a mere wrong glance does the job just fine, now his anxiety is doubled, for both scenarios are true.

Merlin's deeply troubled expression isn't lost on Arthur, he thinks he feels the same, although he has no idea of the pain in Merlin's stomach that's pulling tighter, tighter, with every step, until he can barely breathe anymore.

"Please," says the old woman and gestures for the chairs and the table in the middle of the room, "Do make yourselves comfortable."

Arthur nods and says, "I am quite comfortable, thank you," and he smiles at the old woman despite the dread in his stomach.

The old woman huffs, "You should sit, young men!"

Merlin glares intensely at the old woman. "Please, do sit down yourself, ma'am. You need it more than us," he spits and the polite nature of the words is banished by the bitter tone of their delivery.

"Merlin!" Arthur chides in a harsh whisper, reprimanding him, but Merlin couldn't care less about the feelings of this old woman.

"I would rather not be here," growls Merlin and averts his eyes at being reprimanded like a child like that.

Neither would Arthur, but he won't say it out loud. He has the uncanny feeling that, if he were honest and, therefore, impolite, this would not end well for them, so he elects he would rather be polite and dishonest than honest and dead, but perhaps that's just him.


End file.
